


Reunion, or "I am Noxian and So Can You"

by katsumeragi



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Gen, Mind Control, Sibling Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 18:40:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/827546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katsumeragi/pseuds/katsumeragi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zelos is found nearly dead off the shore of Noxus. Swain not only would like to patch him up, but to make him the best soldier Noxus has ever enlisted. Irelia can only pray that she can find her brother before said treachery happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reunion, or "I am Noxian and So Can You"

His ears probably still had some caked blood in them, or it might have been his concussion, but from what he could actually hear, the blurry figures in front of him were having a very detailed conversation about things they were going to do with his brain.

Or, that’s what Zelos assumed from the words he picked up, such as “behavior modification,” “days of conditioning,” and “Ionian scum.” He tried to concentrate on hearing more but something nearby was very bright. Squinting, he looked up and saw that a dingy lightbulb was dangling overhead with no shade. Perfect. This place must have been as secluded as it could get.

As the haze from his head dissipated, he tried to move his arms but found they were restrained. He thrashed against whatever was holding him down. From what he could tell, they were leather straps, and of course they wouldn't budge. He kept trying anyway. He was in a medical chair, propped up with the cold leather rubbing against his arms. He must have made a lot of noise, more than he could hear through his clogged ears, because the blurry figures stopped talking. Damn. He must have made more noise than his clogged ears took in. One of them moved closer, and another figure became clearer, moving strangely from the background.. Out of the background came a figure, moving strangely. As it hobbled closer, Zelos recognized the gold and royal green robes, the clacking of a cane against the stone ground, and worse of all, the squaking of the hellhawk brought to this world.

Swain.

Zelos felt a harsh grip around his neck as his face was pulled upward to meet the eyes of one of his captors. His eyes, though red, had nothing behind them, and Zelos could've sworn that if he pulled the mask down, he'd see the most satisfied grin— if the rumors weren't true, that is, and his entire face wasn't just a mask covering the face of the demon he'd brought into this world.

“You can thank me later for saving your life,” the tactician said.

Zelos scoffed, which brought on a bout of coughing. The taste of iron spread through his mouth. How badly injured was he? He cleared his throat. “Where am I?”

“A few soldiers sailing back from Ionia found your body and your ship washed up on a rock,” Swain told him. “They took you to Zaun and had the doctors keep your stats steady. We estimate it’s been about five or six days since your boat crashed. Again, you can thank me for keeping you alive instead of just squishing your head in my…claws.”

“But if you’re here now, then Ionia, was―”

“Undefeated.” Swain let go of his neck, causing Zelos to cough up more blood. “And because of that, I’m now on inactive duty, which means I have time for other things, like overthrowing the Noxian government while the DuCoteau sisters are playing dress-up, or enjoying a relaxing game of chess, or finding new ways to destroy your sister from the inside out.”

“Don’t you dare touch her!” Zelos thrashed against the chair’s restraints, so hard it was beginning to bruise his skin.

“Oh, I don’t plan to,” Swain said slyly. “That’s where you come in.”

The doctors in the background scattered, then came together to push a large, veiled object forward. It looked boxy at the lower half, medium-sized, but all other details indiscernible because of the stained grey cloth draped over it. Zelos gulped. There was a lasting pain where Swain had clawed into his skin. He wasn’t looking forward to the plan behind the curtain.

Beatrice cawed. Swain reached up and pet her feathers. She nuzzled against her dealmaker’s hand and cooed.  He moved his hand to pull off the dirty drapery.

The machine was metal, about waist-high, not counting the long neck with a large monitor at the end. The front of the metal box had a control panel with a few knobs, switches, and headphone jacks. Zelos was nervous at the sight of an LED screen alone; Ionia wasn’t exactly known as a nation that embraced technology. Sure, every once in a while the Kinkou order would try to bring in more efficient weapons or modern medicine, but it was always rejected. Judging by Ionia's hesitancy to adopt new methods, Zelos could only assume change was too scary.

“I’ve had this pet project for a while,” Swain continued. “These scientists, led by the good Doctor Stanwick, have found a way to meld magic and science together. Using Leblanc’s powers of deception and reverse engineering of some Piltover broadcasting equipment, we now have a fully-functional mind control machine.”

Zelos froze. “No…you can’t…”

“Ah, but now we can, thanks to months of research and some minor theft of Piltover security cameras and computer screens. And, after a few weeks, you’re going to become a soldier that all of Noxus will adore.”

“And you think that I don’t have a strong enough will to resist whatever it’s going to do to me?” Granted, Zelos thought, in his current state, with the room spinning around him and at least a pint of his blood sprayed on the beach rocks outside of Noxus, Swain might be right.

“I’ll be seeing you in a few days,” Swain said. “Enjoy the show, Lito.”

Zelos screamed. He tried to jerk out of the medical chair one more time, but Swain paid him no attention and limped back into the dark of the Zaunite facility. One of the doctors held him down by the forehead as another inserted two foreign objects into his ears. He began to hear an overwhelming humming sound that drowned out his screams and the doctor’s panicking. His body fell backward as the medical chair’s back was lowered. The brainwashing contraption was pulled forward, the neck extending to put the screen in his full line of vision.

Then, a prick, on the inside of his forearm. Zelos turned his head to see one of the doctors with two syringes in his hand, one empty and one full of a light blue serum.

“Don’t worry, the first one was the muscle relaxer. You won’t even feel the pupil dilator in your system” the doctor muttered, tone mocking. Taunting a man while he was already down— what a bastard. Unfortunately, he was right. His arms felt weighed down by the concoction in the syringe. His eyes rolled back a bit, his focus shifting, taking in more of the surroundings against his will. He felt hands twist his neck from the side to straight ahead, filling his entire field of vision. 

As much as he was screaming inside to not, Zelos drank in the spiraled screen and the low tones drilling into his subconscious.

\---

“Sir, he’s ready for his Four Day Evaluation.”

Swain was sitting in a rickety folding chair in one of the waiting rooms at the Zaunite facility, his face buried in a leather-bound book on Noxian medicine (which included informative chapters like “Quit Crying Like a Girl” and “The Dark Arts and Indigestion.”)  His hand was buried in a bag of Bilgewater Sea Salt caramels from Sinful Succulence.

Beatrice squawked to gain his attention. Startled, he rushed the bag of candy into his pocket and propped himself up to stand with his cane. _That_ could have been embarrassing.

Stanwick dumped Zelos into the chair in front of Swain's desk, his hands tied behind tautly with rope. Stanwick grumbled, “It’s only been four days sir, so we had to take some…precaution.”

Swain took a seat at Stanwick’s desk, admiring the cushy chair of dark burgundy leather and all the nicely marbled accoutrements on the desktop. Really, he thought, a scalpel with a green marble handle? Is this what his money was going toward?

He took a small hard candy from the tasteless marble candy bowl on the desk and flicked it to his loving bird. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m strapped to a chair, your doctors put mysterious drugs in my body, every waking moment of my life is spent staring at an electric screen, and I get fed through a tube. Not exactly hospitality.”

Swain was glad he decided to opt out of adjusting Zelos’ personality for the time being. He had attitude, which coupled with the subservience being hardwired into his mind, could make him just as valuable of a high commanding officer as Darius. He’ll be a little punk, but he’ll be reined in by obedience. He could be a new poster child for Noxus, since the last person to take that position was supposedly lost in Ionia. “And tell me, do you pledge to Noxus?”   

“Well yes, because I am Noxian, Sir.” He froze. Why did he just say that? He saw the amusement in Swain’s expression from seeing Zelos’ shocked face. It wouldn’t do him any well to lash out. “Let me correct myself. I’m Ionian. I’ve been Ionian since I’ve been born.”

“It’s okay, a little resistance at the beginning is normal,” Swain assured him while waving his hand nonchalantly. “And tell me, how long have you been in the Noxian army?”

“Four yea…no, wait…how did you even―”

“Alongside making you submissive to any commands given to you, we’re rewriting your memories to make your compliance seem natural. We’re making you believe that you left Ionia in wake of your father’s death. Clever, huh? The doctors said it’d be good insurance that you wouldn’t snap out of your brainwashing. Good soldier.”

Zelos’ face felt flushed, the way it felt when he received a compliment or after a good fight. Though, he wasn’t really sure why.

He was doing mental somersaults over how that was the first thing that came to his mind. Of course he was going to say that first; it was one of the only things blaring into his mind because of that machine. He knew who he really was. But if this was only the fourth day…how warped would he become later?

\---

It has been roughly two weeks since the invasion of Ionia, and while she had done enough in the rebuilding effort, Irelia was very concentrated on a piece of paper.

She hadn’t exactly been given a tutorial on how to be the Captain of the Ionian National Guard. She was sort of at a loss on what to do next, cursing whoever thought it would be a good idea to give her a position of such power with no experience, and about twenty minutes after coming back to life, too.

It’s not that she wasn’t grateful for the spell Soraka reversed, but not every fighter was a tactician. Additionally, not every fighter had a weapon like hers. Irelia swore that there was more than just a psychic link between her and her blade. It was as if her father was somewhere in its central orb. Hell, if it could speak, it probably would probably take every minute to indulge her on what she was doing wrong with her life, and how she couldn’t think of the next move for her newly acquired army.

“Your brother might be the joker, but at least his head isn’t in the clouds as much as yours!” he’d say, without a trace of humor in his face. If it wasn’t for their mother reminding them it was okay to act human, she’d probably resent him even more.

A light and furious patter of footsteps approached from the main hall. Her study wasn’t too far from the foyer so she had about fifteen seconds to look like she knew what she was doing. She began furiously scribbling the first thing she thought of, which happened to be an Ionian nursery rhyme about monkeys and meat buns. Boy, did she hope whoever was approaching wasn’t going to loom over her shoulder.

Fortunately, the figure that turned the corner was a young guardsman, probably only delivering a message.

“Captain,” he addressed, bowing in courtesy.

“Private Keun.”

“I’ve been sent here to inform you that the rebuilding effort is exactly two days from completion, and that the Lieutenants thing a commencement speech would be a great morale booster, as long as you’re not too busy with your strategizing,” he said, pointing to the chicken scratch on her desk.

She tactically slunk in front of his field of vision. “Thank you for notifying me. Now please be off, I’m rather busy.”

He peered over her shoulders for a second look. Damn him for being a few inches taller than her! “Is that…the rhyme with the baboons?”

“I said _be on your way_ ,” she commanded in a harsh tone, one she had gotten used to using quickly with such a ragtag army.

He panicked, and turned quickly to find the exit, muttering “ _yes ma’ams_ ” and “ _sorry, Captains.”_ Irelia knew she should have felt some remorse for not taking the message with a kinder tone, but she couldn’t help the fact she still felt lost. She sat back at her desk, letting the pen wander, lightly writing words on wind-surfing along the island coasts, and the loneliness that came from being the last Lito.

If only she had a way, without being immediately taken down by an airstrike over Noxus, to just fly above Valoran and search for that mop of silver unkempt hair that would assure her Zelos was at least alive. 

Actually, that wasn’t a bad idea. She jotted down some maps, a few routes, some thoughts (“We clearly don’t have the technology for this―maybe Piltover would help?”) Maybe her idea could work out, with some fine-tuning.

“You know, just because you went on that short trip to Freijlord doesn’t mean you have the right to be such an ice queen.”

Startled, Irelia turned from her work to see the white-haired swordswoman leaning against the doorframe. Riven had her arms crossed with a disapproving, motherly look. Irelia focused her attention back onto her paper. Of course Riven wouldn’t have that. She cleared her throat to respond, at least.

Technically, Irelia didn’t know why she decided letting Riven stay in Ionia was such a good idea, considering it wasn’t too professional as Captain of the National Guard. They crossed paths at one point on one of Ionia’s small islands. She was searching for debris of Zelos’ ship, and Riven was using planks and the side of a cliff as a makeshift cottage. She had a familiar face; Irelia recognized her as one of the Crimson Elite present the day of the attack on her homeland. However Riven had made it clear she was exiled, conflicted on the direction her homeland was going, and all she wanted in life were a few extra ship planks to build a new wing to her shack.

The Exile, who still resided on her island and used a small raft to get inland, made a habit out of loitering around her house’s many courtyards and corridors while Irelia was trying to draw up a strategy. Although sometimes a distraction she was a level head to bounce ideas off of, and, considering they were similar in age, she proved to be a good companion to have around. It was nice to have someone to relate to about the downward spiral Valoran was taking as a whole.

Irelia’s father wouldn’t approve. Luckily, he was very, very dead.

“I don’t think I know what that means.”

“It means,” Riven said, propping herself against the wall, “I know you’re trying so hard to keep the nation safe, but it wouldn’t hurt to be a little more approachable.”

Irelia wrote more furiously with her pen, enough to cause a few small tears. “Trying to win a popularity contest isn’t going to make Ionia well-guarded. And it’s certainly not going to help me find my brother.”

“There’s a soldier who overheard one of our conversations and heard you say ‘gnarly.’ Everyone thinks he’s insane,” Riven said with a smirk.

Irelia stopped mid-plan and ink bled in rivers throughout her paper. “That was a private conversation! Was it Liseung? Reina? I swear―”

“Calm down! It makes you seem human. Which, as someone who was a military grunt, is pretty good for raising morale. Let loose a little. Hell, even Swain had drinks with his squadrons and got a few laughs.” Riven walked over to the desk and pried the paper off the desk, which had been pinned down by the pen at that point, and couldn’t help but let her eyes wander at some of the words and maps.

“You know, for a neutral body, these plans don’t look so neutral.”

“I’m not really feeling so neutral anymore,” Irelia said. She tried balancing the pen on the tip of her right index finger. She needed something else to concentrate on, even if it was small and trivial. “We need to have a bigger presence, a well-prepared presence in the fields…and it doesn’t help that he’s still missing.”

Riven had a feeling she knew who “he” was. In the study there was a large canvas painting of who she assumed was Irelia’s family. There was a pale woman with silver hair, who looked like the blood was drained from her face. A man stood next to her, a few inches taller, who had a stern look and a broad-shouldered build that would intimidate anyone from making a snide comment about his receding hairline. In front of these two were two children, around eight or nine years old. One was obviously Irelia, a little girl with a concerned expression Irelia wore a lot lately, and a boy of the same height with the same silver hair as his sister and mother.

As an only-child, Riven couldn’t really emphasize, but she could imagine a missing sibling that grew up so close to someone would tug at their heartstrings a lot. 

“So, what’s the plan then?”

“I need to find a way to get eyes in the city, just for a little while. Not only to see if I could get some crucial information from some loose-lipped Noxian soldiers, but maybe just to…” She trailed off while staring at the family painting. “To put my mind at rest.”

“I can do it.”

Irelia’s look was quickly of dismissal. “I’m sure of it, but you’re still trying to stay neutral until you figure out where you stand, right? I’m not going to force you.”

“I’m the one offering. Besides,” Riven said, putting a hand on the disheveled captain’s shoulder, “You’ve done enough of a favor for me by not just burning my sad island shack to the ground. I know how to get in and out without being detected. It’ll be as easy as a Yordle Snap Trap.”

Irelia still looked concerned. But this was the kind of opportunity she had to take. “I can make arrangements for next week. We’ll get a boat from the Guard fleet.”  

Riven smirked and gave a fake salute.

\---

Swain was fidgeting with red marble pen (which would be the last Stanwick ever owned, after a conversation about frugality that ended with Stanwick being suspended four feet off the ground by his neck) when the doctors hauled Zelos into the consultation office. They pushed him in with his hands behind his back, but didn’t use rope when sitting him down in the chair facing the tactician. Swain placed the pen in Beatrice’s beak, and she began playfully wagging it back and forth. He folded his hands on top of the desk.

“Test him out, General,” Stanwick said.

“Gladly,” he replied, not breaking eye contact with Zelos. He had to admit, he doubted investing so much time in the mind control device, but seeing the result from only ten days were astounding. He was unmoving but shaking, and the resolution in his eyes was just a face for the fear evident in his expression. Fear, and something else that Swain welcomed in his new toy: hate. There was enough hatred in his eyes to burn a village. Even if his mind wasn’t fully gone, he wasn’t helping it stay.

Swain heard the crack of the pen hit the ground. Beatrice must have gotten bored. So had he.

“Kneel.”

Moving like a rusting mail of armor, Zelos bent his left knee and rested his arm onto his right. Perfect compliance, Swain thought. It would take old-fashioned torture more than ten days to condition a broken man to do the same, with unnecessary injury and an eerie attachment to the captor on top of that. 

“I think I’m glad that I missed the test stages for the machine” he said, placing a hand on Zelos’ head, his fingers moving through his hair, “or else I probably wouldn’t be enjoying this stage as much. How does it feel to have your body betray your mind?”

“You’re sick,” Zelos growled.

“No, this isn’t sick. This is only Day Ten.” Swain’s fingers dug into Zelos’ scalp, causing him to wince in pain.  “What would be sick was if I stopped your conditioning now, so that when I sail you to Ionia to take care of your intolerable sister you can look in her eyes and say you knew exactly what you were doing when you stab her through the chest.”

Swain cackled, with Beatrice crowing alongside him. “But no, if I was going to force you to do that, you’d welcome the trance that machine brings you to so you can lose those last remnants of your free will and at least not be the same man while helping your homeland burn to the ground.”

Unchained by one of Swain’s commands, Zelos found an opportunity to try and attack him. He sprung up, sweeping Swain’s hand away. He balled his hand into a fist, aiming to punch the older man in his stomach, but his fist broke air. Somehow Swain disappeared behind him, a possessed shadow, that was all the time Zelos had to think because then the ferrule of a cane bludgeoning the back of his head like hammer to bell. He fell to the floor and felt the weight of Swain’s leg on top of him, the hell digging into his flesh. He turned his head to look up and meet the eyes of the all-too-pleased tactician.

“You will never attack me that way again, understand?”

Zelos’ mouth twitched, holding back words. Swain ground his boot harder into his back, eliciting screams of pain.

“Y-yes, sir.” That was better, Swain thought. “So tell me, what nation is your allegiance to?”

Zelos mustered the last of his free will to try to keep his lips sealed but he had no choice to give in. It had been hardwired into him after days in trance. He just thanked the gods that his head was bowed down to not see the look of satisfaction on the general’s face. “Noxus.”

“Good soldier.”

Something in Zelos’ body burned with a pleasurable intensity he hadn’t felt before. He figured it out now, like the first time in this office he felt something before with that phrase. Swain must have found a way for a simple phrase to make him want to crumble in ecstasy for obeying his master’s orders. He had no choice but to listen to every word, and maybe even get a sickly-placed reward each time he acted like a “good boy.”

The rage in Zelos’ eyes could have burned through the floorboards. Being weak enough to respond to such triggers, how could he let himself fall so far? Why couldn’t he resist the doctors’ twisted conditioning more? If he was given a waking moment between unconsciousness and constant brainwashing he’d break down, discarding the last of his dignity. He hadn’t cried since the day of his father’s funeral, although he secluded himself in the Lito home courtyard to do so. He felt like he had failed his homeland. He had failed the last living member of his family. He had failed himself. 

Worst of all, he didn’t put it past Swain to lift the spell on his head the moment his sister’s blood coated his hands.

He prayed for the machine’s sweet release to take the rest of his mind as soon as possible.

\---

There was a sort of childlike giddiness in Swain to see how far along his new star soldier had progressed within his last four days. Hell, even if the experiment turned out to be a flop, at least he would get the added joy of firing Stanwick along with disposing Zelos before he gained all of his free will back. For the occasion, Swain had bought himself a box of Ionian Ginger Snaps earlier in the day, partially for the irony. At least when he had extra money, he didn’t spend it on gaudy desk accessories.    

Zelos walked in alone.

It was odd to see him casually stroll in and sit himself down before Swain without the assistance or force of the research doctors, slouching in the chair he was tied to before. The slight disrespect might have been something to tweak later in a smaller conditioning session, but for now it would suffice.

“State your name,” Swain beckoned.

“Zelos Lito.”

“And why are you here today?”

“To apply to the Noxian Special Forces, to hopefully bring our nation’s reign to every end of Valoran.”

“…Tell me about yourself.”

Zelos flipped some of the hair out of his eyes. “I defected from Ionia as soon as my father was safely six feet into the ground. I’ve been a faithful soldier ever since.”

“You certainly don’t _look_ very Noxian.”

Something Swain hadn’t considered until now was the clothing Zelos was wearing. It was traditional Ionian garb; his gunmetal and Byzantium armor was cast aside to strap him into his medical chair easily, but underneath were baggy grey pants, like those of a monk. Bandages, torn from the weeks of movement wear, were the only thing covering his chest.

Zelos ran a few fingers against his bandages, and rubbed the cotton cloth of his pants between his fingers. He looked up with a raised eyebrow. “Not to be rude, General, but my head feels like it was used as a battering ram. Is this the aftermath of that one joke? A cook, a minister, and Urgot are on a sinking ship?”

Oh, how pleased Swain was. Zelos’ attitude was perfectly adjusted to be the Noxian the doctors molded him into becoming.  “Is there a specific weapon or fighting style you excel in?”

“I could show you if you give me a proper blade.”

Swain was prepared for this task. He reached under the desk to pull up a thin bundle covered in a sand cloth. He beckoned Zelos to take it. The boy unwrapped it to find the weapon he was found with on the day of his ship’s crash. Although an average blade, the hilt was an intricate swirl patter with a red gem at the center. Swain, having seen the real one in person, knew it was a good tribute to his father’s oddly-shaped blade. To his pleasure, Zelos’ expression was rejecting the tribute. He looked up with a look of confused disdain. “I said a proper blade, sir.”  

Luckily, Swain was prepared for that too.

He handed over another cloth-wrapped bundle that Zelos took eagerly. Ripping the cloth open he found a blade more spectacular than the last. Its blade a Davy’s shade of gray, its grip and cross guard was an ornate spiral of dark metal that looked like oozing venom. A skull with jeweled eyes brandished the middle of the hilt. At the pommel was a crown that was enrobed in what looked like a gust of wind. Swain had been worried it would be too gaudy when he commissioned the sword, but hey, he thought, with the amount of grooming put into him, eventually Zelos would be like a son to him. He deserved something to feel like a prince in the empire that Swain would claim to be king.

Zelos’ face was gleeful. He turned to face the door of the office, and turned back to Swain “Do you hear those footsteps?”

Swain leaned in a little. “Light ones. Probably just a nurse. What does it matter?”

“It matters,” Zelos said, pausing to concentrate on the wisps of wind that danced around his blade, they grew, and howled. Documents flew off Stanwick’s desk into a tornado of paper in the room. “It matters because why waste the energy if I’m not going to shed a little blood?”

The wind shot like a spear from the tip of his blade to the door, breaking it open with a loud crash. Swain covered his eyes as a rain of splinters and glass shards filled the room. Beatrice cawed in surprise, her claw’s grip tightened on his shoulder, not sacrificing her hold on him for a safer place in the room. Buried under his bird’s squawks was the scream of a young woman.

He opened his eyes to a squint to see a room hazed with dust and sawdust. All of the marbled office supplies were knocked to the ground and broken to pieces. Through the fog Zelos was still, staring at the ground in front of him. He steadied himself standing on his cane and walked over to see the damage Zelos was so fixated on.

Swain was correct in guessing it was a nurse whose small pattering footsteps echoed in the hall. Her features weren’t even distinguishably human anymore with the cuts covering her body and shredding her clothing. Black clumps of hair surrounded her corpse, his wind her barber. She must have been young, maybe even beautiful, Swain thought. But now she was carved meat used as a punching bag for Zelos’ test of strength.

But in the end, isn’t that what he was looking for?

Swain placed a hand onto Zelos’ shoulder, in grim satisfaction. “Good soldier,” he praised, and moved back toward the desk. Zelos visibly shivered in glee at the thought of his bloodshed being good enough.

Swain searched the floor by the desk to find where the telephone had gone. After a few seconds he saw the large marble base cracked in half, yet the keys were still intact, and the receiver cord twisted around an oaken coathanger. He picked it up and dialed the number of the high command office. After a few soft tones he commanded “I want you to send a message to Darius. Tell him he’s buying a few drinks tomorrow night for a new soldier that will be working under him and I’ll reimburse him in blade sharpening and those new helmets his fleet has been begging for.”

\---

Draped in a tattered tan blanket and hunched over, since disguises were one of the last concerns for this recon mission, Riven stood in front of The Tart and Tipple in the rain.

Despite Irelia’s concern, Riven knew that the walls of Noxus were generally unguarded save for about four or five scouts, since any stranger who thought scaling the walls was a good idea was usually dead and looted within the first hour in the nation. After making quick work of the wall and navigating through flooded alleyways, she knew the best place to find information would be the dive bar where most soldiers went to drink away battles while ogling the scantily-clad waitresses. Now the only issue was getting in.

Riven spotted something bouncing in the corner of her eye. She turned cautiously to see a brunette girl, who from the neck up didn’t look a day older than fifteen, adjusting the bunny ears of her waitress outfit. She was remarkably brave to walk around so relaxed instead of changing inside, she thought. The fact that someone as war-hardened as her thought being so publicly indecent in the evening was scarier than battle probably meant the world wasn’t working the way it should.

Worse of all, as the idea came to her, it was people like _her_ that made this city so dangerous.

 She quickened her step to catch up with the waitress, and tapped her on the shoulder. “Hey, I couldn’t help but notice you have a tear in your tights. I can help you fix them if you need me to. Want to go inside and mend them?”

\---

Riven was very impressed with herself. She not only remembered what pressure points would render the poor unknowing waitress, or Miranda, unconscious, but she looked fantastic in a leotard.

After adjusting her cuffs and headpiece in the dressing room mirror while smiling awkwardly at every other waitress that passed by, she walked into the backstage hallway. Girls stood around, taking a cigarette break as they tried to ignore any bar patrons failing to persuade them into a nightcap. Yikes. At the end of the hallway was a maitre d’ podium, in the bar’s tasteless red and purple color scheme, with a few drink trays on top. She grabbed one and pushed open the door to the bar floor, immediately wishing she hadn’t.

Crowded, the main bar was full of shouting, belligerent Noxian soldiers, clanking steins of ale together at the tables or doing shots of radioactively bright spirits. The music was headache-inducing; the low, pounding bass of old Tainted Nexus hits drowned out most of the bar’s misery. The bar was dark save for the flashing stage lights that highlighted some of the waitresses dancing sultrily to the metal band. To think she used to go here willingly, she thought, until she was interrupted by a hard cracking sound, and the sting of her rear’s skin that followed. She spun to her left to see a soldier’s sleazy expression aimed at her as he swirled his empty drink glass for her to take.

“Two-Shiv Bourbon, Sweetcheeks,” he said with a greasy smile that highlighted the rot in his teeth. If she wasn’t trying to stay incognito she’d probably crush the glass into his eye socket. Instead, she batted her eyelashes and smiled as she took the glass.  

She wended her way through the rowdy crowd and found herself at the main bar. The bartender was a gruff man, perhaps in his early fifties with a scar across his left eye. His low-collared shirt exposed some staples along his neck. He raised an eyebrow as she put the soldier’s glass on the counter, but she was guessing a place like this had a high turnover anyway.

“Two-Shiv, please,” she said, head in her hand as she scanned the bar. She then watched the bartender cram the small glass with ice before trickling a venomous green bottle into it. She couldn’t say she was surprised.

He slammed the cup back on the bar in front of her. “Drop that off and come back. There’s a private party on their fourth round of beers and gets the next one comp’d. VIPs. Make sure you look pretty.

“Uh, yes, of course, but―”

“Room 3. Tell him afterwards that the round’s on the house.” The bartender pointed his thumb to his left. Riven turned to her right and immediately ducked behind a burly bar patron next to her. _Darius._ He would recognize her for sure. He was leaning against the bar counter, looking relatively unamused while his squadron was probably howling and hollering at the room nearby.

The tray of beer steins appeared before her on the counter. Forget the assgrabber, she thought, it would be better to cover more ground of the bar while she was still invisible to Darius. Picking up the tray, she maneuvered through the drunken crowd to the back wall opposite of the bar. Silken purple curtains divided the private parties from the festivities outside. She cleared her throat and pulled one open.

The soldiers were at first, unaware of her presence. They all seemed to be crowded around someone, but she couldn’t make out whom or what without exposing herself. One scruffy young man turned, and joyously hollered at her. She wore her best false smile.

“On the house boys!” she said in a manner that’d make herself cringe. The guys cheered and mobbed the tray to grab new drinks. Before she turned to walk away, with little time to formulate exactly how she’d hide her face when giving Darius the last beer, a hand reached over and grabbed one of the two pints left. She looked up to see eyes, barely covered by the soldier's silver hair. He smiled devilishly at her.

With only an old painting for reference, she was still sure she had just happened upon the second-to-last Lito alive.

Zelos must’ve picked up on her eyes or ears perking up to his appearance. He stayed fixated on her as he took the first drink from his pint. “You know,” he began, “I think I’m coming down from a very long concussion, so forgive me when I ask, are you new around here?”

Oh come _on_. Well, at least she could use this in her favor.

“Why…yes I am! This is actually my first shift. And you look awfully familiar too.”

The soldier slammed his beer stein onto Riven’s tray, the foam from Darius’ reserved beer splashing onto its surface. She swore she saw him flexing for a second.  “Yeah, I’ve spent my time around here. Ionia’s not going to burn down itself, you know?”

If this was a cover, he was acting way too well, Riven thought. But it couldn’t have been. If Zelos was anything like Irelia, he’d be rooted in a deep tradition of stubbornness to not be able to play a convincing Noxian.

“Funny you should say that, since I remember seeing your face next to your sister’s in the house of Lito.”

Something snapped in the cocky soldier in front of her and she felt his grip wrap around her chin. His look turned cold as he snarled. “Do you have a death wish by mentioning my past? Hmm?”

Riven wasted no time. She swung her drink tray into his head, sending the Hand of Noxus’ free beer flying and Zelos crashing to the ground. The drunken soldiers in Dairus’ squadron clustered around him, tipsily concerned. Riven felt the cold of a hard on her bare shoulder. She begrudgingly turned to see the stern, streaked face she knew all too well. He even looked more surprised than she was. Her mouth opened, but as much as she wanted to say “Guess who’s still alive, you dirtbag?” the sudden fear of what was to come crossed her mind.

It was a known fact that, if Darius chased after you, Swain was soon to follow. And Darius’ wings were comparatively figurative.

She ducked from under his hand, through the crowd of sloshed guards and ditzy waitresses, and ran through the streets of Noxus as fast as her high heels would take her.

\---

Irelia, back at the Ionian fleet ship that was docked in the beach of the Guardian’s Sea, expected that it would take a while for Riven’s strange scouting mission to go forward. It all seemed sort of preposterous anyway, the thought of sending a famous exile into a bar full of dangerous soldiers in hopes to run into any lead possible. Maybe she should have offered to go with her, she thought. Maybe that wouldn’t be such a good idea on account of her tendency to strike before thinking, especially if there were Noxians involved.

She stared at the seacliff and wondered when she’d see the bob of white hair rise over the rocks. Hopefully she’d bring more than just herself. Her ears perked as she heard a faint “hey!” in the distance. She looked a little more to the left and saw a figure maneuvering down the staggering rocks. But something seemed off.

Irelia took the looking glass out of her satchel and brought them up to her eyes. Riven broke onto the horizon, running at an alarmingly fast pace. Was she wearing rabbit ears? Irelia waved her arms to signal where to run, but by the time Riven got to her position she ran past her, and hopped onto the fleet ship’s wooden ladder. “Hey!” she yelled to the exile. “What happened?”

“I might be bringing friends” Riven said, furiously climbing to the top and swinging her legs over the deck. “We need to get out. Now.”

“Why? What happened?”

“Your brother isn’t your brother anymore. Get on board. We need to go. _Now._ ” She rattled the ladder against the side of the ship, but Irelia’s hands were on her hips like a stubborn child. She really didn’t want to explain right now, especially with a wind master on their heels. Why now?

“I’m not going until I get an explanation!”

“You can have your damn explanation when you get on this boat.”

“What do you mean that he isn’t my brother anymore?”

Frustrated, Riven tried to gesture that feeling with her hands, but instead grabbed onto her hair. “He’s acting like a Noxian soldier. But, not acting, like he actually _believes_ he was there attacking Ionia on the invasion. I don’t know. Get up here.”

Riven walked out of visible range to Irelia, and she  unfortunately had to climb up to continue her argument, even if that is just what she wanted in the first place. She picked up her blade that was wedge in the sand and climbed, it knocking against one of the lifeboats on the side. When she reached the top, Riven had already strode across the sizeable deck and to the steering wheel at the left.  

“Why aren’t we going back for him? Sneak me in the way you got in, maybe we can talk to him.”

“No, that won’t…we’re wasting time. Get up h―”

“Hello, Irelia.”

Irelia’s arms collapsed to her side. She looked up to see Riven drawing her sword from under the deck. Irelia squeezed her eyes tightly together as her stomach seemed to drop to the bottom of the sea. Her right hand reached for the neck of her blade to face her brother, or whoever had taken her brother’s voice and laced it with mischief and malice. She mustered up the courage to face him.

His old Ionian Guard armor was gone.  Zelos was covered with dark armor from his pauldrons to his shinguards. The dark purple sash around his neck covered most of his mouth, but she could make out that fiendish smile at the corner of his lips, the one he used to flash when steal fruit from neighbors’ trees or making faces behind their mother’s back. Gone was the sword he used to brandish and in place of the sword he specifically commissioned as a memory of his father was replaced by something sooty and filled with venom.

She never thought she could go from zero to heartbroken in two seconds flat.

He broke the silence first. “So you’ve decided to join the bad guys? Took you long enough.”

“What are you talking about? Who did thi―”

“Oh please, don’t act like I didn’t have a hand in this. What’s it been, four years? Don’t tell me you came back here to try and win me over.” He rolled his eyes and rolled his wrist to spin his new sword. He walked to her, at a curve, but she kept her distance. They walked in sync, as two duelists in a ring.

“Zelos, it’s been two weeks! You never came home after sending for help!”

“Don’t bullshit me. You’re not gonna drag me back to Ionia to make me help you run that waste of land.

 I’m not gonna sit in the shadows of our bull-headed moron of a father and that idiotic woman who sat by his side the whole time while―” With the speed of light, Zelos drew his sword near his face, just in time to clash with Irelia’s blade.  He was surprised she had the gall to lash out at him first.

“Your head can be wherever it was taken. You never, ever say that kind of thing about Mom.” She pulled back and glared at him. Zelos smirked as he put a hand to his chest, his heart calming down after the adrenaline rush of almost getting into battle.

Well, if everyone had a little room for anger, they all had a little room for Noxus in their hearts.

Zelos ran forward, with small wisps of wind spinning around his wrist. His sister reciprocated, holding her father’s blade right in front of her as a shield. On collision she turned it, the thin edge facing him now and the sound of metal grinding together filled the air. His arm reached to her wristguards and he released the small tornado he had cast. She pushed him away with a thrust of her blade, but the wind stayed on her, cutting through the metal of the guard. Riven was right, she thought. This was the wind channeling of a man who wasn’t afraid to kill any longer.

She had no time left to stare at the damage done to her armor anymore. Zelos relentlessly swung at her, but she kept up, blocking every opening he tried to find. If she could just find a small window to render him unconscious, she could tie his wrists together and take him home. She could try to use some chant or tincture to make him come back to his senses, but she knew the ugly truth that this would be more than a wing and a prayer could solve.

Hoping to divert his attention, Irelia split her blade into four that hovered above her head, and they fired rapidly at her brother with different speeds and flight patterns. Zelos stood still, barely moving to knock all four aside with his sword. She stood shocked and frustrated, and beckoned the parts back with her mind to become a whole. Somehow, one of them wouldn’t return. It felt lodged somewhere, and something was keeping it from being pried out.

“I suggest you stop that.”

Behind Zelos, paused and panting in his offensive stance, came the sound of something hollow making its way up the small ladder.  

Irelia’s eyes widened at the sight of the hellish mound of feathers vaulting itself over the ship’s side and transforming in front of her eyes into the old man she had grown to loathe. He had the fourth part of her weapon pinched between his left thumb and index finger. He loosened his grip and it flew to snap back into its rightful formation.

Swain cleared his throat. Beatrice squawked at the young girl while her master adjusted his coat and standing position. “I wasn’t expecting you so early, Lito,” he said dryly. “Are you enjoying the sight of your newly uninhibited brother?”

Irelia desperately tried to keep her composure as Swain taunted her. She feared if she went with her initial intuition, which was to lunge toward him and slice his face off, he would be able to do something to an Ionia that wasn’t prepared. Or worse, he could control Zelos into dying for his…new country.

“I’d like to hear what you think he’s uninhibited by now,” she said, feeling sick enough to empty the entirety of her stomach onto the deck.

“He isn’t held back by phony ideals of peace, or balance, or refusing technology that would leave him in a dark age of war. He’s become the perfect Noxian soldier. And besides―” Swain limped to Irelia, as close as he thought he could get without her cutting him to the ground. She watched with sick curiosity as he got into a range of mere inches, and was surprised he loomed at least six inches over her. He knocked the handle of his cane lightly against her left hip. “I’m sure it just brings you to pieces that now you’ve got to save your home all by yourself when you know you can’t.”

Riven, spectator to what she could only think of as the worst family reunion of all time, was just as paralyzed by Swain’s bluntness as Irelia was. She couldn’t start steering or they would be waterlocked if something hazardous happened. Then again, she remembered there was a lifeboat located at each side and the back of the boat. If their attention was diverted for a while she was sure she could find a way for her and Irelia’s escape. But for the time being, she knew the only way Irelia could leave was if her brother, himself or not, was with them.

“And you,” Swain said, pointing his cane to Zelos, who was leaning on his sword behind his sister, seeming bored at the conversation. “Next time you follow a lead on the enemy, make it known. If you want to become one of the Crimson Elite you’ll need to at least follow _some_ rules.”

Zelos made exaggerated yawning motions. “No worries, Sir. I was just trying to set some facts straight.”

“Good soldier. Continue.”

“Yes sir.” Irelia saw her brother, acting as if he was going to double over in the joy he felt from being a good soldier.  “God Sis, why can’t you just imagine how _good_ it feels to be Noxian?”

Revolted at the thought, Irelia let out a primal scream and swung her blade at Zelos. Now she was the one who was inexorable with her attacks. She didn’t have time to be so doleful about what Swain conditioned her brother to be, because she knew in time Zelos would grow tired and aim for a killing blow, or Swain would join in. She needed to act, fast. As Zelos countered another one of her strikes, she used a free hand to punch him on his upper left jaw. He reeled backwards, skidding across the deck on his back. Irelia smirked; being new to her power, she sometimes forgot she could engage in hand-to-hand combat alongside the mental power that kept her blade swinging. It took a lot of concentration, but it was the only tactic that could quicken this fight.

Zelos lifted himself from the ground, looking daggers at his sister. He wasn’t fond of being bested this early, and sprung back into the fight with more reckless abandon.

Swain, on the sideline, was pleased to see this soul-crushing battle. However, as much as he was enjoying the fight unfolding before him, he couldn’t help but feel something was missing. The exile, he thought. She was one of the most dedicated fighters he’d ever seen in the walls of Noxus and yet instead of returning home she was aiding this girl. He looked toward the back of the boat and saw her fidgeting with the ropes holding a lifeboat together. No, no one was going to decide if they could leave this fight unless he planned for them to. He tried to keep a low volume on the damaged and moist wood of the deck while the siblings fought in the background, to properly sneak behind her.

Swain grabbed Riven’s wrist and the rope she’d been untying had whirred past. She saved it at the last second while struggling against the general’s hold on her. The rope’s fibers dug into her palms with a burning sensation that made her growl in pain.   

“Keep him, I don’t care!” she said while trying to keep hold of the lifeboat.

“It seems like the other half of your new alliance would be pretty upset if you decided to abandon ship, wouldn’t she?” Swain asked while trying to pry each of her burning fingers away from the rope.

“Don’t act like I broke allegiance to Noxus. You know why I never returned.”

“Do tell, my prey.”

“Because I had to find a way from my country being run by evil like you!” Swain found one of the pink high heels which previously belonged to Miranda jammed into his stomach as Riven broke away from him with a swift kick. He keeled over, grasping his abdomen as she vaulted over into the lifeboat. Beatrice kept her hold onto his shoulder and dug her talons as deep as she could to keep her “master” conscious.

Irelia heard something hit the water and turned to see the tactician swinging his arm like a cat dropping its meal in the water. She ran towards the noise, ignoring her brother’s wind charging around his arm. He raised his arms in disappointment. She had _just_ turned around when Zelos had planned something so deadly and showy she’d have no choice but to surrender. His new unbridled ego wasn’t willing to let go of that.

Irelia peered over the deck with a furrowed brow. “You’re just going to leave me here?”

“What? No! You need to jump down here! We have to leave before his gets even more dangerous!”

“What are you waiting for? You have the advantage!” Irelia turned to see Swain climbing up from the deck on his cane, glaring at his subordinate. Zelos had an enraged expression.

“If she’s gonna divert her attention like that,” he said with a twisted grin. “I’m going to make her pay the ultimate price for it.”

Swain knew that, with that much concentration and egomaniacal rage, whatever gust of wind he was charging could destroy the ship, but he was pleased to see the level of dement usually reserved for Darius’ younger brother. But at the same time, he really didn’t want this conflict to end so soon. He dreamed of a close future in which the Noxus-Ionia war would be large scale, full of casualties, and dominated by his mental prowess.

_You’ve got to get them to leave Zelos behind._

Swain pushed himself, giving Beatrice a look that was an unspoken word between the two of him. He felt the tingling sensation that started in his fingertips then spread throughout his body to end in a rush of power. He looked down at his hands to see them morph into the onyx claws he loved toying with. His skin broke out into a ruffle of matted feathers.

Riven heard the familiar flapping of her ex-superior’s transformation. Fearful for any further fighting, she shouted “Get the hell down here!”

Irelia glanced over the deck, keeping most of her sight on Swain. “Riven, I can’t leave him here, we have to―”

“He’s _gone_ , okay! Swain has a tight spell on him, and if you can’t break it right now I don’t know what can! Please, we need to go, _now_!”

Irelia threw a final glance to Zelos, who was charging a small gust of wind circling around the blade of his sword. The ravenous look in his face and the giant raven monstrosity looming near her erased all hope for retrieving his sanity. She jumped off the deck, landing in the lifeboat with a thud. Riven hastily cut the rope connecting it to the ship’s side, and they dropped into the grayish-blue of the Guardian’s Sea.  

After the drop they heard the boom of splintering wood. The two women looked up to see the shadow of the mast falling to the bow of the ship. It crashed through every level of the ship with the ease of a knife through melted ice cream. It hit the water, causing a huge shockwave to ripple throughout. Irelia thought the shabby lifeboat would tumble over to give them a grave at sea. Somehow, although some water splashed into the boat, it stayed upright. A few degrees to the left and Zelos could have killed them with the toppling mast. Had Swain command him to hold off? Did his new Noxian mind think it’d be a useless effort?

Was there a chance that, underneath it all, his old self delayed his actions?

Riven was trying to row against the inland current while scooping water out of the boat with her hands. There was a long stretch ahead of them before they’d reach clear waters. “I could use a little help here!” she barked, although, Riven knew it’d do no good.

Irelia stared blankly behind them as they made jerky progress away from the sinking wreckage of the fleet ship. Maybe it would have been better to not indulge her curiosity, she thought. Maybe it would have been better to mentally bury her brother instead of learning he had turned into a monster.

“You knew, didn’t you?” she said, face stoic. “You knew what these people are capable of more than I did. You figured he’d change. Why did you go along with the mission?”

Riven huffed as she fought against the waves with the lifeboat’s paddles.

“Because I’m your friend, you gnarly dork.”

The waves crashed against the side of the rowboat, and Riven quietly paddled on. Irelia hoped it was loud enough to drown out the sound of the first time she cried since her mother’s funeral.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> A few endnotes:  
> \- It’s a headcanon of mine that the Lito siblings didn’t exactly grow up with the greatest childhood and following adolescence. Having a father bent on discipline and tradition so much (which was kind of shown in Irelia’s League Judgment, if you can find it it’s personally my favorite next to Rumble’s) he expected a lot from his children, chastising them for wanting to find their own paths. They probably went to school but didn’t have the time to make friends or let loose. It’s clear one of them holds a grudge about this more than the other.  
> \- Tainted Nexus is a real band in Valoran! It didn’t really occur to me there were others besides Pentakill but I found a JoJ about a Battle of the Bands. It was a great find!  
> \- The Sinful Succulence candies are made up, as is the Tart and Tipple, bourbon, and the joke about Urgot.  
> \- A part two is in the works. It’s a lot more Zelos-centric and has a lot more interaction with other champions such as Draven, Ezreal, and Vayne to name a few.  
> \- A big thanks to plainwater on tumblr for helping beta read this! You're fantastic :)


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